


leaves withered and perished

by mushroomherb



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BAMF Sansa Stark, Brienne of Tarth is the Best, Canon Compliant, Heavy Angst, Jon Snow is the Worst, Knight Brienne of Tarth, Multi, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Sansa Can Wield A Sword Okay, but One Party is Apparently an Idiot, not Dany friendly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:15:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26839567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mushroomherb/pseuds/mushroomherb
Summary: He looked at her repentantly.She looked at him with nothing in her eyes.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Sansa Stark/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 8
Kudos: 74





	leaves withered and perished

**Author's Note:**

> this place where sansa and brienne sparring at is absolutely my imagination

“Brienne,” the Oathkeeper stilled at the voice, the thick wall that was separating them didn’t mean a thing for her, for the lady knight knew already, had guessed correctly, what was about to happen. The door to the room creaked open, old hinges worked their way and the Lady of Winterfell came out.

She didn’t need to look at her face to know why the highest ranking woman in the North had called her, past midnight, stoic face instead of sleepy one, voice as cold as the winters in Winterfell, _if not colder_.

The Oathkeeper still didn’t say anything when Lady Sansa walked past her, to the place only the both of them knew. The hallways were almost empty, dark, fortunately there were no one in sight. No one, ever, in sight whenever Sansa asked her to _spar_.

Had been, for the past few years. Ever since Littlefinger. One night, after some throat had been slit, blood flowed and seeped to the cold ground, Lady Sansa came out of her room only to stay still in front of the knight’s chamber’s door.

 _What’s wrong, Lady Sansa?_ the lady knight had asked.

 _Teach me how to fight,_ she had answered. An order rather than a plea.

Brienne didn’t say a thing at first, didn’t move a muscle. What did she hear just now? She had misheard what Lady Sansa said, didn’t she? But when the cold voice of _Sansa Stark_ rang through her ears again for the second time, she answered back in a low voice, _follow me._

A secret chamber that Brienne had found some many moons ago, through the office of Lady Sansa, and some tunnels. Since then, every time something happened to _set off_ the cold and composed Sansa Stark, the Lady would ask her guard for a spar.

 _Just, the basic things,_ she once said.

And Lady Sansa repeated that same phrase again and again every time she sparred with Brienne, until she no longer learned the basic things, until she no longer felt how weak her body was for an hour of sparring. Brienne never really said she was _good_ , _good fighter_ , _swordsman_ , whatever. Never really praised her when Sansa revelled in her moves. The Oathkeeper’s head only nodded once each time the Lady had advanced a move, but it was enough of an encouragement for Sansa.

No one had an idea. No one knew. About the secret chamber. About Sansa’s rage showed through her sword. About why the Lady of the North and her guard went to wherever the place was past midnights.

But Brienne knew _why_ she did this.

—

Brienne knew. All through everything that had happened, why the Lady didn’t even bat an eye. Didn’t even show any emotions through it all. Didn’t cry like she used to when Joffrey humiliated her. Or when the abhorrent bastard, Ramsay Bolton raped her, over and over. Or when Littlefinger harassed her, over and over. Through it all, she always kept her cool. As cool as the wind blowing in the North.

She kept her cool when a raven flew towards her, bringing a news of something that should’ve surprised her, which it did, but her stoic face didn’t change even one bit. She kept her cool when she read that her brothe– _cousin_ , cousin, was coming home from the South. She kept her cool when she learned someone else would be coming along. She kept her cool when the Dragon Queen’s name etched to the scroll, _Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen_.

Even when her ears heard the word _knelt_. She kept her cool. Jon had knelt to the Dragon Queen, bringing her along with him to the North, where Sansa was supposed to welcome her with warmth ( _despite the coldness of the North_ ), kept the food coming for _her_ army, for _her_ kids. She kept her cool.

She kept it, without slipping for once. When _The Beautiful Queen_ and _him_ , appeared through the gate. When they slipped down _her_ dragon and the supposedly stunning blonde looked at Lady Stark’s people as if The Queen already earned their trusts, their loyalties. _Wrong, very wrong_. Or when she noticed The Queen’s arm hooked firmly around Jon’s. Even when she only got a short and distant hug from the man she had been missing for quite some time, while her other siblings got ones long enough to repel the cold.

She kept her cool at all times.

Her ( _fake_ ) smile when she called her _Your Grace_ , her ( _fake_ ) enthusiasm when she gave The Queen a tour of Winterfell, her ( _fake_ ) laughs at The Queen’s jokes.

She still kept her composures when her people gave her disapproving glances towards her, for they didn’t want no one else but Lady Sansa to lead them, when she calmed the Lords down as she said they needed _her_ , _her_ army, and _her_ dragons for the war, as she also tried hard not to scoff when saying that.

But she knew her and her people needed that help. So she stayed still. Kept it all to herself. Didn’t even complain when she gave up her chamber so The Queen could use it. Didn’t even complain when Daenerys Targaryen treated her beloved people like they already _belonged_ to the Dragon Queen ( _when her people weren’t even an object belonged to anyone_ ).

The ( _fake_ ) smile she gave when The Queen told her, hoped to her, that they could be friends. When she only gave Sansa two choices: _kneel or die_. How in the seven hells should she be friends with a person like that?

Jon looked at her with guilt when he found out. From where, she didn’t know, she didn’t care ( _or she did, care, actually_ ).

He looked at her repentantly.

She looked at him with nothing in her eyes.

Cold, just coldness. Not even a pinch of disappointment, or betrayed, or even jealousy. Or Jon was just too stupid to read through her. Maybe. He didn’t use his ears when Sansa told him clearly, _not to go to the South_ , why should he care what her mind was like, now?

Because that was exactly what Sansa had been feeling every moment of the time, since Jon and _her_ , walked through the gate, looking like a couple so far in their love dreamland, ready to take over the world. Humongous disappointment. Betrayed. _Covetous_. A feeling loomed in her chest, not so appropriate for it to be called _sisterly_ love.

But she kept her cool. She wouldn’t want to be the Targs, who married their own siblings, though it was clear that Jon wasn’t the Starks’ bastard brother. What would her people say if she so happened to just _propose_ to him? Accompanied by pathetic reasons such as political union.

That said, she had, almost slipped out of the façade. Once, twice, maybe thrice. _Or more, she just didn’t realize it, nobody did_.

When she caught The Queen’s longing gazes at him, lovingly, softly, gently. When she supposedly was talking to a Lord but her eyes ventured to _their_ tightly clasped hands. When The Queen whispered something to his ears, and he _genuinely_ laughed or smiled at whatever she told him. When his hands were put around _her_ waist, or _her_ hips, or the small of _her_ back, to soothe _her_ , calm _her_ down. Meanwhile Sansa only had her confidence, that she had built herself, over the years, to prevent from breaking down in front of her people whenever an inconvenience came to her.

She almost slipped out of the façade, badly, when she walked down the hallway, in purpose of clearing her mind from the war, only to accidentally catch the both of them, Jon and The Dragon Queen, walked hand in hand to her old chamber. Doing whatever the gods knew they’d do in her chamber, in her bed. _Disgusting_ ( _but then she was also disgusting for harbouring_ those _feelings for him_ ).

She almost slipped, another time, way past midnight, Brienne a few steps behind her, and her already tired eyes caught the both of them flushed so close together. His back on the hallway wall. She didn’t even make a sound, only slowly, while carefully tempering down the turmoil inside her heart, retreated back to where she came from. Didn’t even realize that Jon saw the glimpse of her red hair and had stopped Daenerys for going further, he never let the Dragon Queen touched him even more in the North.

Only that night, though, after the people of the North kept their ground on what they agreed upon amongst themselves, _to be independent_ , did she scraped off her mask. Asked Brienne for another spar they had been doing since gods knew when.

After they won, The Night King, dead. Cersei, dead. Iron Throne, empty. Daenerys Targaryen was about to take her place. Yet Sansa and her people still refused to kneel down to her. When Jon pleaded at her with his eyes, at the Lords, at the people who once called him King.

But they refused. Even though they knew _she_ still had one dragon with _her_ , ready to hear _Dracarys_ came out of The Queen’s mouth, ready to be burned alive, but they refused.

_We’d choose to be dead independent, rather than to kneel down to a Mad Queen._

_We’d rather watch our kingdom fall._

Because they had been independent for so long, and they _would_ keep their independence, also because they only wanted Lady Sansa as their leader. Khaleesi didn’t stand a chance at all.

_Kneel or die._

_Dracarys_ almost came out of _her_ mouth. But Jon stopped _her_ before _she_ could say a thing.

_My Queen, please stop. I will come with you to the South. Please, just leave them alone, the Iron Throne is yours to take, just leave them alone, as they always had been. They didn’t want anything else. It is only independence they want, My Queen, only that._

_He begged. He actually begged_. Sansa almost slipped out of her façade again. The rapid movements of her eyelashes, blinking her eyes furiously at Jon Snow, the tears almost came out, palms turned into fists beside her body.

The Queen wasn’t convinced at first. Bad, ugly things came out of her pretty mouth intended towards the Lady of the North. _You just want to be the Queen, don’t you_ , a rhetorical question. Sansa didn’t answer, for the Lords were already on their feet defending her. And she had to calm them down as to not set off the Mad Queen. Jon kept trying to convince her, and The Queen finally gave up, _only for this time_ , she had said. Apparently, Jon’s sweet promises worked. _Disgusting_. It was so disgusting Sansa could only hold back for some times before vomiting into an empty bowl outside the Great Hall after the meeting, not caring at all about the pity, worried looks she got.

Jon’s arms around The Queen’s body, holding her firm so she wouldn’t lash out any moment, and Sansa heard, _I’ll be back, and you’ll kneel before me._

And then they were gone. Daenerys Targaryen, Jon Snow, Jon ( _hideously stupid_ ) Snow, and her retinue. The Dragon as well.

Jon would follow her to the South, marry _her_ too probably, his own aunt. Jon would have heirs with _her_. Jon would rule alongside _her_ , or maybe under _her_ , as _her_ right hand, for _she_ was too power hungry even after _she_ got the Iron Throne.

And finally, that façade broke down, a few hours after the Mad Queen left. Sansa went to her chamber, not the one she gave up for Daenerys, way past midnight, only to come out a second later and called Brienne from her own chamber.

Sword in hand, she was ready to _rage_. Didn’t even wait for them to reach the secret chamber, Sansa started attacking The Oathkeeper in the hallway. She knew she wouldn’t win, didn’t even stand a chance against her best guard, yet she still attacked.

Brienne allowed her, as long as Lady Sansa could lash out. The lady knight knew what Sansa needed. Dodge, after dodge, after dodge, The Oathkeeper’s sword clashed against Sansa’s, she kept it there as she looked into the Lady’s eyes, only to find something she hadn’t seen for a very long time.

 _Fear_.

For her people. For their wellbeing.

_For Jon._

And then the tears started pouring down. Without a break. Lady Sansa’s sword fell at the same time her body did too. Brienne was fast to catch her, like a mother, she cradled the broken Lady in her arms, as she let her pour her emotions out, as she let the Lady clutch onto her as long as she wanted.

_You’ve done your best, Lady Sansa._

And yet she hadn’t. She still lost Jon.

—

It was much late in the night when Brienne brought Lady Sansa up to her chamber. Weakness seeped through the Lady as they got closer to the chamber. When Sansa’s legs finally gave up to tiredness, _her heart, too_ , Brienne stood at the corner near the door.

 _Could you stay here, Brienne?_ With a gesture for the knight to come closer.

And who was she to decline Lady Sansa? When she was this vulnerable, when she was this _broken_.

And so, stayed there she had. Lady Sansa’s head on her lap, red hair being combed gently, soft, tired breaths puffed out into a pair of heavily-covered thighs.

The night was long and Brienne would still stay there even if the dark did not end.

—

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading. this is actually my first ever written story of Jonsa before the two pieces I had already published. and yes, why not write angst for my first time, right? I actually planned a happy ending between Jon and Sansa but then reading it again, motherly-Brienne is enough for our Queen Sansa lol.


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